


But I Cannot Walk Away

by darlathecyborgpluviophile



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blowjobs, Car Sex, Closeted Characters, First Time, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Making Out, Oral Sex, POV Third Person, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Thirsty Prompto, ffxv holiday exchange 2018, fluff with plot, handjobs, illicit getaways, that makes it sound way worse than it is i promise, there is sap and cheese galore in this fic, well for one of them ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-21 15:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlathecyborgpluviophile/pseuds/darlathecyborgpluviophile
Summary: Prom is offering it, already framed perfectly between his knees. He could be a work of art like this—with the barely-there light from the highway lampposts outside, his messy golden hair, his kiss-swollen lips, the way he’s kneading his knuckles into Noct’s thigh.Gods, he deserves to be hung in the Citadel.





	But I Cannot Walk Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BloomTwist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloomTwist/gifts).



Noctis wakes up at two a.m. from an alarm blaring through his earbuds. It’s egregiously, _absurdly_ early, and it’s a time that he would never consider waking up at under normal circumstances.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, on the off-chance that the movement makes any noise. It won’t, of course, but Ignis sleeping so close beside him doesn’t help his anxiety any. Noctis moves an arm across the other side of the divide his body makes, and shakes the skinny wrist it finds there until it starts moving of its own accord.

“Wuh—"

“Shh,” he says, and he shifts in his bedroll just enough to look into purple-blue eyes, strangely glowing in the darkness of the tent.

One look from Noct tells Prompto everything he needs to know.

They’re at a Haven deep in the southern woods of Duscae, somewhere between Fociaugh Hollow and the Chocobo Post. The woods around are thick and dark, arching up and up and up towards the starry heavens. It’s enough for Noct to pause upon exiting the tent, half-dressed and cold and full of awe that the Astrals—for all their cruelty, for all the unfair weight they’ve bestowed upon him—created this beauty. He stares upwards, ignoring the goosebumps beginning to pepper his skin until Prompto gives him a patient smile and softly tugs him down the stone path of the Haven.

By the time Noctis pulls the back passenger-side door of the Regalia closed Prompto's already looping his arms around Noct’s neck, tangling fingers in the back of his bedhead, pressing kisses all over his face.

He closes his eyes, and he lets himself enjoy it for a moment before kissing back.

They don’t have much time. Neither are focused on their phones for the time being, except that there’s another alarm set for three a.m., to ensure they aren’t gone so long that the other two notice.

That is, if they’re not awake already.

It’s a constant threat during these late night getaways. Despite the first kiss of the night having come and gone, Noctis’s head is still stuck back in the tent; whether or not they accidently woke Ignis and Gladio, what they would say if they knew he was cheating on Luna, if they knew for a fact that he wasn’t even _straight_ —

“Hey, you with me, bud?”

Prompto snaps his fingers in front of Noctis’s face. Noct blinks, and tries to shake himself out of it.

“You okay, dude?” he asks, and—Gods, Noctis doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how Prompto can make the word ‘dude’ sound romantic.

“Yeah, just…” and he trails off, frowning.

Prompto tilts his head, the telltale sign that he’s thinking. He searches Noct’s face, and in the reprieve between sloppy, terrible kisses, Noct studies him back.

He looks so _soft_ , this time of night. Out of his patchy, punk-rock Crownsguard uniform and into nothing but a huge sweater and a pair of borrowed sweatpants from Noct himself, Prompto radiates comfort, even in the middle of a war zone, even in the middle of a centuries old conflict between gods and men and the conduits they force as an in-between.

If Noctis closes his eyes, focuses only on their lightly labored breathing, on the feeling of Prompto’s arms slung around his neck, he can pretend that they’re somewhere else. Far, and safe, back in his old apartment, or maybe a place of their own—cozy, warm, with just the two of them, free to choose their own destinies.

It’s not a fantasy befitting of royalty. It’s certainly not a fantasy befitting _straight_ royalty, or at least, purportedly straight.

Gods, he really hopes this isn’t the night where Ignis and Gladio wake up.

There’s suddenly fingers at his temple, and he blinks out of his internal monologue.

Prompto’s got a sly, toothy grin on, one that makes Noct’s stomach do flips, one that lights up the whole car.

“You’re overthinking again,” he says, as if it perfectly resolves all the concerns in Noctis’s mind. Noctis just snorts.

“Little hypocritical of you to point out, don’t you think?”

Prom rolls his eyes, but it’s playful. “Well yeah, but at least I’m not spending make out time doing it.”

With lack of a better response, Noctis kisses him again. This time it’s slower, exploratory—they’re still learning how to kiss, how to make this work, how to make each other comfortable. Prompto’s hands slide away from Noctis’s face; one resting briefly on the back of his neck, and the other probing lower.

“Mind if I, uh, help you out with that?” he asks, and meets Noct’s eyes as he sinks to the floor of the car.

Maybe it’s the hour, but Noctis just stares blankly at him until—oh. _Oh_.

“Oh,” he says, dumbly. Noct’s face heats up. He looks away, out the window and back into the forest—“You’ve…have you—“

“Done this before?” Prompto finishes.

Noct’s eyes are pulled back to him in time to watch Prompto nod. “’Fraid so,” he says. “I, uh, didn’t really wanna wait for someone who might not notice me anyway…”

“Prom...” Noctis brings a hand down, tucks a stray strand of Prompto’s hair behind his ear. He’s blushing, the color bringing stark relief to the freckled, bumpy, perfectly _imperfect_ skin of his face.

“Sorry, uh, anyway. That gonna be a problem?”

Noctis smiles, but he can tell that it comes out more like a wince. “’Course not.”

Prompto’s fingers trail even lower—down the pale skin of his abdomen, to the hem of his sweatpants. He plays with the waistband, snaps it gently a few times.

“This is okay?” he double-checks.

Noct’s heart thumps painfully, his breathing getting rushed and shallow and funny. They’ve never done this before, _he’s_ never experienced this before. He doesn’t know whether it’s better or worse that Prompto has more experience.

But the alarm for three hasn’t gone off yet, and Prom is offering it, already framed perfectly between his knees. He could be a work of art like this—with the barely-there light from the highway lampposts outside, his messy golden hair, his kiss-swollen lips, the way he’s kneading his knuckles into Noct’s thigh.

Gods, he deserves to be hung in the Citadel.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he says, moving to help Prompto with his pants when hands rest upon his.

“ _Noct_. I got this.”

Prompto smiles up at him with a fraction of his light-up-a-room smile; it’s a look that’s warm and sweet and glowing, meant only for his eyes.

He does get to help a little bit, lifting his ass off the seat while Prom shimmies the pants down past his knees. His boxers come with; his cock’s only half-hard, but that issue’s fixed as soon as Prompto latches onto Noct’s inner thigh. A line of fiery pleasure starts from where his mouth lands, running all the way into the pit of Noct’s stomach. Already he arches up into the open-mouthed kisses.

“Gods—you’re _teasing_ —" Noct accuses, and Prompto unlatches, laughing quietly.

“Dude, you’re not there yet. Besides, getting you all riled up is half the fun.”

He can’t respond to that, because as soon as Prom’s done mouthing off he moves up higher, trailing a hand up the outside of Noct’s thigh and sucking a lovely dark spot closer to his crotch.

Before he knows it, Prompto’s readjusting—shifting around on his knees, trying to find a good angle, before he’s graced with a hand around the base of his dick. Prom gives him one last look in the eyes, one last unobstructed smile, and sinks his mouth down around the tip.

Noctis hisses, and arches up into the sudden heat.

“Agh— _Gods_ —"

Prompto’s starting slow, even he can tell—probably for the best, considering how wound up he is just from the teasing. He takes a long lick, pulls away. Another lick, pulls away; he flicks his tongue against the slit, catching the pre-come that’s already starting to ooze out.

Noct closes his eyes, leaning between the two headrests in the backseat. Something fluffy moves under his fingertips—he’s nestled his right hand into Prompto’s hair without even realizing it.

Much as he’s tempted to, Noct refrains from impaling Prom’s head on his cock—more than anything, he doesn't want to hurt him. Luckily, he doesn’t need to—Prompto’s already moving on, taking more into his mouth, enough that he has to lean over a little bit. Prom’s hands move higher up, centering on Noct’s hips, rubbing the flesh there. He bobs down, bobs back up, flicks his tongue against Noct’s tip. Every movement of his head, he gets a little lower.

Saliva’s already started to drip out of Prom’s stretched lips, along Noct’s length, trickling down his balls and undoubtedly onto the seat. Skipping right over mild disgust, he almost _panics_ when he feels it—they should have thought through cleanup before Prompto went to town. He’ll have to make up some excuse for them both to sit in the back tomorrow, lest Ignis and Gladio notice something happened and raise concerns.

_“Fuck!”_

All stress evaporates when Prompto does _something_ with his tongue, trailing it down the underside of his cock. Noct jumps, heat spiking up in his gut. He’s barely aware that he’s started thrusting up, grinding against the wet of Prom’s mouth. He’s breathing loudly, _Astrals_ , _so_ loudly, like he’s just collapsed on the mat after a double training session with Gladio. The fire in his stomach rises and _rises_ until suddenly, his whole _body_  is set aflame.

The inferno courses through him, pulsing with his heart, rushing through his lungs, into his face, down his legs, the feeling almost akin to that of phoenix down. He’s gasping for air as the heat subsides, fading into a comforting, tingly warmth the likes of which he’s only felt in his fantasies.

His cock’s suddenly left cold, and wet. Hair tickles along his thigh, something heavy pressing down with it, and that’s when he hears breathing as harsh as his own.

Noctis opens his eyes blearily, time returning to its normal pace. He sees Prompto leaning heavily against his legs, face covered in spit and flyaway streaks of come, trying to jerk himself in the aftermath of the blowjob.

Noct feels himself blink.

He returns his hand to Prompto’s hair, combing through the sweat-matted blonde as softly as he can. He reaches down with his other, clasping where Prom’s working himself in vivid desperation.

He notices, but just barely, hissing out, “ _Noct—_ “

“I gotcha,” Noct breathes, and Prom’s messy hand gives way for him to take full grasp of the length, pulling up and up and up and up, until Noct’s name becomes a chorus in the background of the car.

When Prompto’s done, he slumps over into Noct’s own sticky lap and simply _breathes_.

Neither of them have the camera with them, nor would they want to create physical documentation of something so incriminating, but—Noctis captures this moment in his own mind, as something to hold close to his heart, no matter how the rest of this journey goes.

And then the phone alarm goes off.

They scramble to get their shit together, pulling clothing back on and frantically wiping hands on supplies pulled from the Armiger. Stumbling out of the car, they take care not to slam the door in their haste—best case scenario, it wakes up their two slumbering companions. Worst case, they get eaten alive by daemons.

Noctis and Prompto make it back to the tent the fastest they ever have. They take turns gingerly crawling back to their bedrolls, in an effort to make it seem to the others like they’ve merely been restless tonight.

When all is settled, Noctis faces Prompto in the dark of the tent. He watches as his companion suppresses a giggle.

Gods, they’re both kind of ridiculous aren’t they?

At least they’re happy.

Noctis pulls Prompto closer, enough that he can press a kiss on his brow. He feels Prompto exhale—it’s shaky, like he might seriously start crying.

In the absence of prying eyes they _cling_ to each other, and get what rest they can before dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> not pictured: Ignis rolling his eyes with a cup of coffee in the morning, half-tempted to pour the damn thing all over their dramatic asses
> 
> Also, happy holidays [ BloomTwist!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloomTwist/pseuds/BloomTwist) Boy do I hope you enjoyed this, it took an absurd amount of drafts to get under control, haha. It's a touch sad, but rest assured-- these are some happy, satisfied, _safe_ boys, and I dunno about you, but I am so glad they have each other. <3
> 
> This is techincally a follow-up to [the pocky game fic I did](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16423904), but it's certainly not mandatory reading, and may in fact make the continuity more confusing.
> 
>  
> 
> [Title is from Florence + The Machine's "Sky Full of Song".](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iW_OBtopPfI)


End file.
